


The Harkened Dawn

by HeavenlyDisaster



Series: The Wolf and the Bull [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Gendrya - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Hot Springs, PTSD, credit where credit is due, feelings of insecurity, post battle coitus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-10 09:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18657841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavenlyDisaster/pseuds/HeavenlyDisaster
Summary: After the Battle of Winterfell, everybody tries to figure out what happened.  Gendry tries to figure out what happens next.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not related to my other Gendrya fic 'What We've Become' Purely a spur of the moment one shot based on where we are in the show.

Nobody moved right away.  They were all worried that the second they let their guards down the dead would pop back up to slaughter them all.  Gendry was panting hard.  His arms and legs trembled from exertion and fear.  Tormund dropped down beside him.  Gendry jumped and looked down at him.

“Ah,” the wild man rumbled, “Fuck.”

Gendry looked around the yard.  Dead bodies littered the earth.  They were everywhere.  He’d never seen so much death in one place.  He saw movement coming towards them.  He lifted his mace in preparation for another horde of the dead.

“What happened?” Podrick Payne asked.

Jamie Lannister kicked at one of the collapsed White Walkers.  A look of suspicion heavy on the man’s haggard face.  Brienne of Tarth frowned and stowed her blade on her hip.

“They must’ve got the Night King.  Jon Snow said if we killed the Night King the rest would fall.”  Brienne offered.

“Is that…?” Tormund asked, sudden spirit lifting his voice.  He sat up to look and let out a rumbly laugh.  “I knew it!  A woman like you would never fall!” He crowed.

Brienne looked up at him, surprise and alarm spread over her face.  She was splattered with blood and muck.  They all were.  Brienne let a light sigh brush through her lips.  A small smile played at her lips.

“Giants milk did you some good, it would seem.” Jamie Lannister japed.

Tormund laughed heartily.  He jumped down from the rampart they were standing on.  Gendry followed suit, walking over to the trio.  Podrick stared at the dead bodies at his feet.  Gendry couldn’t blame him.  He was still expecting them to put up more of a fight.

“Who do you think got him?”

Brienne frowned up at the sky.  “I’d bet the Dragon Queen.” She hedged.

“Really?” Jamie said.

“You’ve never seen Jon Snow fighting.” Tormund argued.  “I wouldn’t bet against my little crow just yet.”

Gendry spied something on the ground a few yards away.  His stomach clenched.  He moved over to it quickly and yanked it up out of the dirt.  It was one half of the staff he’d made for Arya just hours before.  His jaw was tight.  He looked around at the bodies.

“Arya.” He whispered.

He saw a small woman’s body lying face down a ways away.  He hurried over and flipped it onto its back.  He might have sighed with relief, but he still didn’t know where she was.  He looked through the yard.  _Had he seen her_?  He wondered.  _Had she passed him_?

“Clegane!” Brienne called.

Gendry spun and saw the Hound hobbling toward them.  He was filthy.  His hair was stringy and matted with blood.  His armor was dented and his eyes held a daze felt in all the survivors.  He looked up at his name.

“Dondarion?” Tormund asked.

The Hound stared at them for a minute.  Unspeaking.  Unseeing.  Slowly, he gave a small shake of his head.

“Arya,” Gendry forced himself to say.  “Did you see Arya?”

The Hound looked at Gendry then.  Life returning to his eyes.  Life and grief.  Gendry could feel his breath coming shorter.  She should have been in the crypt.  He should have insisted she stay in the crypt.  She would have been safe.  But no.  That wasn’t Arya.  That was never going to be Arya.  She would die with a sword in her hand.

“I tried my best, boy.  She ran off somewhere after that Red Woman told her something about the God of Death.  Right before the dead swamped the room.”  The Hound shook his head.  “I don’t know.”

Gendry’s hand clenched around the staff.  She ran off.  Where would she try to go?  He spun in a small circle.  Searching.  Thinking.  Where would she have gone?

“Jon did it then?” Daenerys asked from the gate.  She had a horse with her.  Jorah Mormont’s body was slung over the saddle.  Two Unsullied flanked her.  She was filthy.  Apparently not all of her fighting was done from the back of her dragon.

“We haven’t seen him.” Tormund told her.  “I’ll assume it was him alright.”

Daenerys swayed on her feet.  She leaned heavily against the horse’s neck.  The battle had been a drain on everyone and they were used to the physicalities of war.  The Dragon Queen had not been trained in close combat.  Gendry couldn’t imagine what she must be feeling.

“Did he get to Bran?  The Night King, he was going after Bran.  Did Jon save him?” Daenerys insisted.

“We haven’t seen any of the Starks.” Brienne told her patiently.

Jamie looked up, suddenly.  He turned his head to the crypts.  “Tyrion.” Was all he said before he rushed toward the crypt. 

Everyone followed after.  Even Daenerys.

“Say, the crypt was filled with dead people, wasn’t it?” Podrick started.  “Suppose they came back with all the rest.”

Brienne shot her squire a loathsome look to shut him up.  Jamie banged on the heavy door.  There was no sound from inside.  Jamie knocked again.

“Tyrion?” He called.

“Lady Sansa?” Brienne added.

“Missandei!” Daenerys cried.

Slowly, there was the sound of the door bar being lifted.  It swung open and the lot of them were standing there.  Sansa stepped out first.  She looked from face to face, landing on Brienne.  She swallowed hard.

“Jon?” She asked.

Brienne shook her head.  “We haven’t seen him, My Lady.”

Sansa let out a breath.  “What about Arya?  Or Bran?”

Gendry squeezed his eyes shut.

“Nobody has seen any of your siblings.” Brienne said gently.

“Has anybody checked the Godswood?” She demanded.  Her voice was stronger now.  She was holding herself straighter.

“No need, Sansa.” A voice said from the other side of the stone archway.  Gendry turned and saw Bran in his wheelchair.  Jon Snow was pushing him along.  Gendry’s heart soared.  Arya was there.  Tripping along beside them, barely able to hold herself up.  Blood covered half of her face.  Her hair was sweaty and stringy.  She was filthy from head to toe and Gendry had never seen a more beautiful sight.

Tormund let out a laugh and barreled into Jon.  “I knew you’d do it!  I knew you’d kill the Night King!” Tormund crowed.

Jon slapped the man’s shoulder amiably.  “Wasn’t me.” Jon said.

“No?” Tormund stepped back and looked down at Bran.

“Theon?” Sansa asked.

Jon looked at her with pain in his eyes.

“He fought valiantly.” Bran announced.  “But in the end, it was Arya that saved us.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Arya.  Everyone’s except Gendry’s whose eyes hadn’t left her since she appeared.  She wasn’t really looking at anybody.  Gendry didn’t know if she even knew where she was.  Or who was with her.  Jon touched her shoulder and she jerked away.

“It’s over, Arya.” Jon told her quietly.  “You did it.  It’s over now.”

Arya blinked slowly and nodded.  She looked up and around at all the people.  Sansa moved quickly, engulfing Arya in a hug.  Arya didn’t respond at first, but slowly her arms moved up to return the embrace.

“I’ve never been happier that you are so very strange.” Sansa cried.

The Hound stepped forward next.  He didn’t hug her, he only set his big hand on her shoulder.  Arya looked up at him and tears pooled in her eyes.  Gendry saw unshed tears fresh in the Hound’s dark eyes to match.

“I didn’t want him to die for me.” She said, quietly.  “I took him off.”

The Hound nodded.  “It was him that chose to die for you.  And with good reason.”  The Hound smiled at her.  “Don’t go getting kind on me again.”

Arya nodded.  There was a numbness to it that she couldn’t seem to shake.  Gendry felt sickened.  She had suffered enough.  She had seen enough.  Hadn’t she?

Her eyes caught his suddenly.  Gendry smiled at her and raised the half of her spear he’d found. She looked at it and gave him a tired smile.

“Is that for me?” She asked.

Gendry shook his head.  “What do you need a weapon like this for?”

He was aware of the stares.  The murmuring.  He didn’t care.  She was alive.  They were both alive.  They had survived literal death and come out smiling.

“How many did we lose?” Arya asked, suddenly serious.  Remembering where they were.

Daenerys shook her head.  “That is tomorrow’s problem.”

“Torgo Nudho?” Missandei whispered.

Daenerys looked at her friend.  “I don’t know.”

Missandei’s eyes filled with tears, but she did not sob.  She gave her queen a small nod and looked away to the mountain of bodies.  Gendry felt for her.  He hoped she was as lucky as he was.

Something touched his hand.  He looked down and saw Arya’s hand in his.  He glanced at Jon who was squinting at the action.  Arya tugged Gendry to follow her.  He cast his eyes nervously around the group.  The Hound was glaring at him with about as much animosity as a man could put in a stare.  Sansa was smiling softly.  A knowing tilt in her brow.  Bran met Gendry’s eyes plainly.  He smiled at him and inclined his head ever so slightly.

He followed Arya.  Not that he had much of a choice.  She was barely keeping her feet, but her hold on him was firm.  She looked up at the towers of her castle.  Some had been toppled.  Others burnt.  Gendry wondered which had been her room and if it still stood.

He expected her to lead him up to a room.  Maybe even back to the storeroom they had left a few long hours before.  Instead, Arya led him down into a cavernous tunnel below the castle.  It remained mostly untouched.  A few fallen corpses were scattered here and there, but the deeper they walked, the fewer bodies they found.

Suddenly, the tunnel opened up into a steamy pit.  All around them were pools of water.  A few even bubbled with heat.  There were a few torches lit around the cavern, but the water itself seemed to glow on its own.  _Curious_.  Gendry thought.  He tried to recall what Arya had said about the hot springs when she’d told him about Winterfell all those years ago.

When he looked back to Arya, she had already shucked her clothes and was standing naked an arm’s length away from him.  Gendry let his eyes drink her in.  He’d never get enough of seeing her.  All of her.

Arya didn’t say anything to him.  She turned and stepped down into one of the pools.  She sighed at the warm waters and shut her eyes.  Gendry ripped his battle dirtied clothes away from him as fast as he could.  He cursed his boots when his laces snared and tangled together.  At last, he was bare and stepping down into the nice waters.

Gendry found a bucket with soap and a rag on one of the ledges.  He took the washcloth and dipped it in the water.  Gendry moved to Arya slowly.  Her eyes were still shut and he had seen how jumpy she’d been earlier with Jon.

Gendry settled a hand on the crook of her neck to hold her steady.  With the other he used the washcloth to gently wipe away the blood on her face.  Arya opened her eyes and stared at him as he cleaned her.  She blinked hard when his rag caught the split in her forehead.

“Sorry.” He murmured, trying to clean around it.

Arya let him clean her face a few seconds longer before her hand came up to catch his in hers.  She pulled the washcloth away from him and ran it over his face.  Gendry shut his eyes as she worked.  Her hand was planted on his cheek and then she was kissing him again.

Gendry inhaled sharply through his nose and pulled her against him.  Arya let out something between a sigh and a sob.  Her fingers clutched at his bare shoulders and her legs wrapped around his waist.  She slid down over him, her mouth locked on Gendry’s.  He could feel her tears on his face, but he knew better than to say anything.  Some of those tears were likely his anyway.  Instead, he pretended it was sweat from the heat of the baths.  Or steam.

Gendry’s hand went between them.  He found her clit and worked at it until she shook with release.  Only then did Gendry let himself have his.  Arya gasped against his mouth and a horrible sob ripped through her immediately after.

“Shh shh.” Gendry fell back against the wall of the pool, holding her to him and rubbing her back.  She shook in his arms, her head pressed up under his chin.  Her arms were wrapped around herself.

“I thought I was going to die.” She whispered.

“I know.” Gendry pressed his lips to the top of her head.  “I was scared, too.”

“I’m so tired, Gendry.” She confessed.

“I’m sure there’s a bed somewhere that’s not been destroyed.” He pulled her hair back from her face.  “If not, those grain sacks were actually pretty comfortable.”

Arya snorted against his chest.  Then she laughed.  Harder and harder until she was laughing and crying at the same time.  Gendry laughed with her.  Relieved that he was able to bring some levity to her pain.

Arya pushed away from him and dipped her head under the water.  She moved to the bucket and took the soap to her hair.  The water swirled with browns and reds until they disappeared into the fissures.  She floated on her back in the water, staring up at the black, stone ceiling.  Gendry didn’t know what she was thinking about.  All he could think about was the future.

The dead had marched on her castle.  Thousands of people had stood and died.  Yesterday there had been no future.  Yesterday there was only death.  Now, Gendry could only imagine a life with Arya.  A life he was petrified she wouldn’t want.  He would follow her anywhere, but she may not want him.

She had only come to him the night before because she was certain that that was it.  She was here now because she needed someone to hold her and soothe her.  It didn’t have to be him.  He knew that.  She could have anyone in all of Westeros.  Anyone in Essos, too, most like.  And Gendry couldn’t help but think of the two of them running off together.  Of a child or two that they might have together.  Stark children, not bastards.  The children of a hero.  The slayer of the Night King.  The bringer of the dawn.

Gendry could get a shop anywhere.  He was a good enough smith he could plant himself wherever it was Arya saw fit to go.  She didn’t mind a simple life.  At least she hadn’t before.  Would the Bringer of the Dawn expect more?  Would she prefer luxury he would be ill equipped to give?  Would she leave him for someone better?

“Are you alright?” Arya asked.  She was suddenly in front of him again.

Gendry forced a smile onto his face.  “Me?  You’re the one that single handedly saved the world.  I should be asking you.”

Arya frowned at him.  “I think the steam might be getting to you.”

She stood up and stepped out of the pool.  Gendry followed suit.  If he was going to have to give her up someday, he was going to be damn sure he spent all the time he could with her while he had the chance. 

Arya picked up the half staff from where Gendry had dropped it in his haste to be rid of his clothes.  She had dressed in her worn leathers.  She twirled it between her fingers.  Gendry looked at her belt.  The catspaw dagger was still on her left hip, but Needle was gone.  He wondered if she’d left it somewhere for safe keeping.

“This was really good work.  I wish I’d managed to keep a better handle on it.” Arya said, starting up the tunnel.

“I’ll try not to hold that over your head.” Gendry teased.

“Maybe you can make me a new weapon.” Arya suggested.  “I don’t really need dragon glass anymore, do I?”

Gendry wanted to touch her again, but she was twirling that staff back and forth between her hands.  Gendry frowned.  He remembered how happy she had been when he’d brought the staff to her the night before.

“What happened to Needle?”

“Nothing.”  Arya gave a nonchalant shrug.  “You don’t need to make me anything else I suppose.”

 _No. I’m going to_.  Gendry squinted at her silhouette.  The sun had risen high in the sky.  Gendry felt himself smile.  The days had been grey and overcast every day that he had spent in the North.  Today, the sky was blue.  The clouds had dispersed completely.  Vanished with the dead.

The yard was empty save a few survivors sifting through the dead for familiar faces.  Arya led them to the great hall.  Even through the thick wooden doors, Gendry could hear the cheers and chatter of the occupants.  Arya could hear them, too.  She froze outside the doors.

Gendry moved around her and grabbed the door handle.  Arya looked up at him.  Her eyes had gone to steel.  Arya passed the staff from her right hand to her left and took up his hand in her own.  She took a deep, slow breath and nodded at him to open the door.

The moment the door opened, the great hall fell silent.  It was full to brimming with survivors, few that they were.  Jon, Sansa, Daenerys, and Bran all sat at the head table.  The chair in the center was empty.  Arya stared around the room, her eyes taking in everything.  Everyone.

Gendry tugged at her hand, pulling her into the room.  He got her to the middle of the room and dropped her hand, stepping away.  He saw Daenerys and the Starks rise from their seats.  Gendry grinned at her.

“My good people of the North, may I present, the lady Arya Stark.” Daenerys Targaryen started.

“Bringer of the Dawn and savior of mankind.” Sansa continued.

“It was she and she alone that slayed the Night King and led us out of the Long Night.” Jon announced.

“Azor ahai.  The princess that was promised.” Bran finished, solemnly.

A cheer erupted through the room.  Arya stood in a daze amidst it all.  Gendry watched her as she struggled to keep her expression neutral.  Her smile won out.  Big and bright.  The kind of smile that made everyone smile along with her.  Gendry was no exception.

Brienne and the Hound ushered her to the head table.  Sansa guided her to the seat at the center.  Someone brought forward a plate of food for her.  Another brought drink.  Arya’s dazed look came back.  She smiled, but her eyes had stopped seeing.

A chant started up around him.  The people were all cheering, “Bringer of the Dawn.”

Someone touched Gendry’s shoulder.  He spun around toward the table.  Podrick held out a plate of food for him.  Gendry took it and sat down on the bench.  The Hound sat at his right.  Tormund on his left.  Podrick sat in front of him beside Brienne and Jamie Lannister.  Tyrion was beside his brother.

Gendry took a bite of some sort of meat without really tasting it.  He couldn’t see how anybody had the energy to cheer like they were.  Gendry didn’t think he’d ever have it in him to move again.  A cup appeared in front of him.  The Hound’s big hand slapped his back.

“Drink, boy.” The Hound told him in a voice much softer than any he’d ever heard from the big man.

“You shouldn’t call him that, you know.”  Jamie Lannister said.

“Fuck’s it to you, Lannister?” The Hound growled back.

Jamie nodded at Gendry.  “He’s a soldier, you know.  He fought in the Vanguard.  He held his own.  One would think he deserves a bit more respect than to be called ‘boy.’”

“Makes no difference to me.” Gendry said.  His voice was a lot heavier than he expected.

“What would you like me to call him, Kingslayer?” The Hound growled as if Gendry hadn’t spoken.

Jamie stared at Gendry now.  Stared and squinted.  Gendry picked up the cup of wine the Hound had so generously poured for him and drank.  If only to avoid Lannister’s stares.

“Gods, you’re one of Robert’s.” Jamie uttered.

“Hm?” Gendry said.  “What?”

Jamie narrowed his eyes at him.  “Don’t play innocent with me.  You’re a soldier.  And a Baratheon.  I’d bet my house on it.”

Tyrion was staring at Gendry now, too.  “Now that you mention it, I do see something of dear King Robert in the lad.”  The Imp added.

Gendry pushed his plate back and stood.  He wasn’t ashamed of his parentage.  There may have been a time when he was, but he could hardly remember that time now.  Still, he’d be damned if he sat at a table with the Lannisters that once tried to have him murdered discussing his resemblance to a father they did kill.

“Prince Gendry, then?” The Hound ground out.  “That what you suggest I call him?”

Gendry gave a start.  He’d never heard an honorific set before his name before.  Certainly not one with so high a rank.  He didn’t think he liked it.  But heard amidst the fray of survivors chanting, ‘Princess Arya’ the effect was overwhelming.

Gendry rushed out of the great hall.  Princess Arya.  Azor Ahai.  Bringer of the Dawn.  Killer of the Night King.  The princess that was promised.  Warrior of legend.  He leaned against the wall and tried to pull his thoughts together.  He slumped down into the mud.  A corpse lay next to him.  Its neck was twisted unnaturally so its head sat upright against the wall.  Arya was a warrior from prophecy.  Songs would be sung in her honor.  She would be hailed with honor for the rest of her days.  And who was Gendry, but a king’s lowborn bastard?

He knocked his head back against the wall and shut his eyes.  It was cold, but he barely felt it.  The sun was warm on his face.  The sun he only lived to see because of Arya.  He shut his eyes.

He loved her.  He knew that from the first moment she appeared in his forge.  He _loved_ her.  And he could never have her.  It had been what stopped him all those many years ago.  She wanted him to come with her to Winterfell.  She wanted to be his family, but he knew he would never be allowed to stay with her.  She would be married off to some highborn lord and Gendry would be alone again.

Being King Robert’s bastard son had given him hope.  He could prove himself.  He could get legitimized.  Become someone worthy of marrying her.  No one could stand in their way then.  He flirted shamelessly with her in the weeks past.  And _she’d_ flirted back.  And then when she’d… gods. 

He’d been so glad he had the forethought to bathe before taking her staff to her.  When he’d gone, he had a mind to confess himself to her.  To explain why he’d turned away from her all those years ago.  That it wasn’t because he didn’t care for her, but because he had cared for her too much.  He couldn’t bear the thought of one day becoming nothing to her.  She had other things on her mind.  And Gendry was all too happy to help her get them off.

He couldn’t help but feel like they were right where they had been with the Brotherhood all over again.  No matter how high Gendry fought to climb to a level worthy of her, she was always going to be just out of reach.  Princess Arya.  He was no prince.

Gendry didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep.  He absolutely didn’t remember moving from the wall to a bed.  Certainly not one so soft.  So warm.  Gendry snuffled and rolled.  His hand touched another body and for a moment he was still fighting.  Gendry searched for his weapon, reeling backwards out of the bed.  He let out a shout when the shadowy body on the bed began to move.

“Come on, Gendry.”  Arya’s tired voice said.  “Get back in bed.”

Gendry sat on the floor, squinting through the darkness.  When had it gotten so dark again?  He wrestled his legs free of the blankets and stood up.  He had no weapon.  He had no clothes.  Only a new undershirt covering him.

“Hey,” Arya’s voice insisted.  “They’re gone.  The battle’s over.”

“Arya?” Gendry breathed.  Gendry shook his head slowly.  “ _Princess_ Arya.”  He corrected, remembering.

Something sailed across the room and smacked him in the face.  He caught it as it dropped.  She’d flung a pillow at him.  He looked up at her, his eyes adjusting to the darkness at last.  Arya was glaring at him.  The way she had the first time he’d ever called her ‘M’lady’ when they were traveling the King’s Road with Yoren.

“I’m not a princess.  Don’t call me that.”  She bit.

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Gendry said seriously.

Another pillow came soaring at him, but he dodged that one.  He laughed at her for a half second before she pounced.  They went down in a tangle of limbs.  Arya jabbed her little fists into his sides.  It hurt more than it used to, but he still laughed.  He wrested Arya’s wrists into one of his hands, unsurprised when she brought her knee up in response.  Gendry twisted his crotch away at the last second.

“Is this how you killed the Night King, then?” Gendry laughed.

“I killed _him_ with a dagger.  Don’t you make me use it on you, too!” She howled.

Gendry dropped his head back and looked up at her.  The wound on her forehead had been stitched up.  Her hair was messy.  She’d never tied it back up after the hot springs.  Gendry slipped his hand from where it was holding her knee back and cupped her face.

“I saw the Red Woman.” Arya blurted suddenly.

Gendry dropped both hands, releasing her face and hands.  Arya sat up, she was still straddling his belly and looking down at him, but the moment was gone.  Gendry set to memorizing her face.  He didn’t know how many more opportunities he’d have to do that.

“I hope she left the leeches at Dragonstone.”

“She’s dead now.” Arya announced.

Gendry frowned.  “You?  Or…?”

“Neither.  The way Ser Davos tells it, she just blew away in the wind.”

“That’s unsettling.”

Arya shifted over him.  His cock twitched eagerly in response.  Gendry clenched his jaw.  Determined not to make a fool of himself.

“We have to go to King’s Landing.”

Gendry squinted at her.  “We do?”

Arya nodded. “Cersei’s still on the iron throne.  She won’t be staying there.”

Gendry sighed.  Didn’t they deserve a break?  “Suppose you’ll be killing the Mad Queen next.  Really giving the Kingslayer a run for his money.”

Arya barked out a short laugh.  He grinned.  “You don’t have to come.” She told him.

Gendry’s smile fell.  He sat up, knocking Arya back into his lap.  “What do you mean?  Do you not want me to go?”  Anger appeared in him out of nowhere.  “I may not have killed the bloody Night King, but I held my own just as well as anyone out there.  You think I’d be here if I weren’t a fighter?  I was on the frontlines.  I stood and fought in the Vanguard.  I was among the first to have to deal with those fuckers.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go to Storm’s End?  Restart your family line?”

Gendry pulled back.  “What are you on about?”

Arya smiled at him.  “As far as I know, you’re the last Baratheon.  Sort of makes you a lord, doesn’t it?”

Gendry was shaking his head.  “I’m a bastard.  That doesn’t make me anything.”

Arya wriggled her hips down against his growing erection.  Gendry sucked in a breath between his teeth.  His hands gripped her hips.  She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Ramsay Bolton was Ramsay Snow before his father legitimized him.  He was Lord of Winterfell before my brother and sister killed him.”

“Mm…” Gendry was trying to focus.  Her hands were petting over his neck and chest.  “I’m not legitimized.  My father’s dead.”

“I happen to be good friends with a few high lords and ladies.  I don’t know if you heard about it.  I sort of saved the world.  Turns out, any one of them would be very much inclined to give me anything I ask for.”

“Why would you do that?” Gendry moved a hand down to her thigh.  She was wearing only her undershirt, same as him.  It made it easy for him to find her sex.  She was already wet.  It made Gendry’s cock impossibly harder.

“Why else?” She asked, her eyelids fluttering at his touch.  “I want to call you My Lord and see how you like it.”  Gendry dipped a finger into her warmth.  She moaned low.  “Or maybe My Prince.  You’d be next in line after Daenerys and Jon.”

“You aren’t first in line now?” Gendry teased.  He set his other hand at her breast, teasing the nipple through the thin fabric.  “Thought saving the world would give you the best seat.”

Arya let out a breathy laugh.  “Iron Throne isn’t the best seat.  My father said it was the most uncomfortable chair in the realm.”

“Hm.  Melt it down.  Make something cozier.” Gendry suggested.

Arya’s breath grew shakier, her hands clenched at his shoulders.  Another moan slipped through her sealed lips.  “If… if only I knew a smith.”  She sighed.  “T-to melt it down for me.”

“Oh, no.  I’m going to be a Lord.  The Illiterate Lord of Storm’s End doesn’t have time for melting down iron thrones.” Gendry teased.

Arya let out a gasp as her whole body shuddered over him.  Gendry pulled his hand away and tilted his head to find her lips.  Arya gripped his face between her hands and kissed him hard.  She reached between them and her hand gripped Gendry’s stiff cock. 

“The Illiterate Lord has time for whatever I say he’s got time for.” Arya said, her voice strong.

Gendry kissed her again.  “As M’lady commands.”  He agreed.  Although he would have agreed to have his eyes pecked out by crows in that moment.  The way she was working her hips was sapping away any and all of his sense.

He gripped both her thighs just before he came and hoisted her off of him.  He spilled himself onto the stone floor, gasping against Arya’s mouth.  He lay back on the floor, panting.  Arya was frowning down at him.

“What did you do that for?” She asked.

Gendry had no idea what she meant.  He honestly couldn’t think about anything at the moment.

“What’d I do what?” He mumbled.

Arya pointed at his mess on the floor.  “You didn’t do that last night.”

Gendry hummed.  “Wasn’t worried about fathering any bastards last night.”

“None of my children would ever be bastards.” Arya said solemnly.

Gendry shut his eyes and nodded.  “I suppose any child born of Azor Ahai would have to be legitimized.”

Arya was quiet.  Pensive.  She used to talk all the time.  Anything that popped into her head she would blurt out.  Now, she thought quietly.  A part of Gendry wished she was still that chattering little girl he had met.  Back before he knew her true name.

He sat up again, suddenly.  “Do you _want_ children?”

Arya looked at him, her eyes cool and steady.  “I have a few names left.”

Gendry swallowed, his heart quickening.  “But after.  When you finished?  You want a family?”

Arya rolled her eyes at him.  “I _have_ a family.”

“Arya….” He needed her to say… something. 

“I do.  I have Jon, Sansa, Bran, and you.”  She said.  “But a pack can always get bigger.”

Gendry felt himself smiling.  Then he felt himself crying.  Was he really so happy?  She touched his face tenderly.

“You want to be my family, right?” She asked more hesitantly.  “Because you didn’t before.”

“I did.  I do.  I always have.  Always.  But I wasn’t a wolf.  I didn’t think I’d be allowed.”

“Anyone can learn to howl.”


	2. Side A for Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya’s POV post Battle of Winterfell. I actually started to write this one before I wrote Gendry’s, but it was much darker than what I wanted to write. By popular demand, I give you the flip side of The Harkened Dawn.

His hand disappeared from her neck.  Shattered around her like glass.  Arya caught herself on her knee and looked up.  Bran met her eyes calmly.  So hauntingly calmly.  Around them, the Others began to collapse.  One after the other.

Bran said nothing.  The only sound was the wind and even that died down shortly.  Arya sat back on her butt.  The Weirwood tree stood tall behind Bran.  The face set in the white bark looking so much like the faces in the House of Black and White.  The leaves as red as blood. 

The Night King was gone.  The battle was over.  A battle that she had been training for her whole life without ever knowing it.  It washed over her like a storm washes over a ship on the seas.  She had known from the first time she watched the boys training that she had to train too.  She knew when she picked up Bran’s forgotten bow in the yard and could do nothing more than practice over and over without anyone else to guide her.

Everyone who had died.  Everyone she loved and mourned, they all died because they had to.  Her father and Syrio had to die so she would have to flee the city with Yoren and meet Jaqen H’Ghar.  Yoren had to die so she would stay in the south.  Her mother and brother had to die so she would go to Braavos and not Winterfell.  Beric had to die so she would have time to do what needed to be done.  Melisandre had told her all those years ago that her destiny was death. 

Arya felt a strange numbness coming over her.  A deeper numbness than she had ever felt in the House of Black and White.  She may as well have been blind all over again for as much as she was seeing.  She sat on a bed of snow and ice, but she couldn’t feel the cold.  She could only feel… numb.

Theon was dead.  His death was on her, too.  She hadn’t been quick enough.  Nowhere near quick enough.  A few seconds and he would have lived.  But he had to die to give her a few seconds more.  If she had been any later, Bran’s death would be on her hands as well. 

Her head was spinning.  She remembered cracking it open.  The blood still leaked from the wound.  She didn’t feel pain or exhaustion.  She knew she should.  She should feel a sense of pride at the very least.  She had looked the King of Death in the eyes and she had slain him.  But there was no pride.  There was no pain.  There was nothing.

“..ya.  Arya.  Arya, look at me!”  She was being shaken.  Hands were on her shoulders.  “Arya!”

Right.  That was her name.  Arya Stark.  She was Arya Stark of Winterfell.  She was a wolf.  A dire wolf.  She blinked slowly and finally registered Jon’s face inches away from hers.  He was filthy.  There was mud and blood speckled across his face.  His brow was drawn up in concern.

“What happened?” He asked.  Arya stared at him mutely.  Jon turned his head away.  “Bran?”

“She did as she was always meant to do.  She is Azor Ahai.  The sun rises because she willed it.”  Bran said cryptically.

“Arya, did you kill him?” Jon pressed.

Arya stared at him.  Shouldn’t that be obvious?  If she had failed, they wouldn’t be having this conversation.  Was it a conversation if she didn’t say anything back? 

“Eight years ago, that dagger was meant to kill me.” Bran announced from his chair.

Jon picked up her catspaw dagger from where she’d dropped it.  Jon looked from the dagger to Arya.  He turned it in his hands.

“That blade sits at the root of the war.”

“This killed the Night King?” Jon said, examining it.  “A Valyrian steel dagger?”

“Wielded by someone who knows exactly where the heart is.” Bran confirmed.

Jon pulled on her until she was standing.  Her legs shook with the effort, but she refused to fall.  Jon kept his hands on her to keep her steady.  She didn’t need them.  She could stand alone.  Jon left her to push Bran’s chair.  Her eyes fell back on the Weirwood.

The face stared back at her.  The faces in the House of Black and White had never stared.  They kept their eyes shut respectfully.  The Old God saw her.  The Old God had _always_ seen her.  All the gods had.  They had conspired to make her what she was.

Jon called out to her again.  They were a few feet away now.  Arya tore her eyes from the Weirwood.  The shattered ice of the Night King’s body crunched beneath her feet.  Better shattered glass than rotting corpse.  There were enough of those littered throughout Winterfell.  She could see them as she walked.  Too many to count.  All of them on her hands.

She felt Cat’s Paw on her hip.  She didn’t remember taking it back from Jon, but she must have done.  It was snug in its sheath where it always sat.  Needle wasn’t with her.  She had kept it in her room.  The sword would have been of no use to her that night anyway.  She used the staff Gendry had made her.  It had worked better.  Until she’d lost it.

Her stomach rolled.  Did that mean she had lost Gendry too?  Would she get back to wherever they were headed and find his blood soaking into the snow?  She should have moved faster.  It should have been her sent to guard Bran.  She should have volunteered at once, but she had been selfish and prideful.  She wanted to be on the frontline.  They wouldn’t permit her in the Vanguard, but she would not cower in the crypt either.  She should have sucked it up and stayed with Bran.

She could hear voices.  Familiar voices.  She could hear them but she couldn’t listen to them.  She was too busy counting the blood.  Movement came from her left and she felt Jon being pulled away.  Her hand went to the hilt of her dagger, but she heard laughter.  She dropped her hand and went back to counting.

A hand landed on her shoulder and Arya shied away from it.  Jon bent his head close to her.  It had been him that had touched her.  Her brother.  Not a Wight. 

“It’s over, Arya.  You did it.  It’s over now.”  He assured her.

Arya nodded, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it really was over.  Did the gods have any more secret plans in store for her?  If they felt Jon or Bran were becoming hindrances to their plans would they kill them, too?  She felt like a puppet that just saw its strings.

Arms were around her.  Holding her tight.  Not too tight.  The arms were weak.  She took a small breath.  The scent was sweet.  Sansa’s perfumes, though sweat could also be smelled.  Arya lifted her arms and returned the hug as best she could.  Her sister said something in her ear, but Arya could only feel her sister’s tears on her cheek and the slight tremble that went through her long, thin body.  Residuals from her earlier fear, Arya guessed.

Sansa disappeared from her.  Arya blinked hard and tried to focus her eyes.  A large hand settled on her shoulder, delicate as a bird.  She blinked up at the man and felt her eyes heat.  His face was tired and dirty.  He looked no worse off than when she’d left him an hour ago.  His eyes were filled with unshed tears.  Beric.

“I didn’t want him to die for me.  I took him off.” Arya explained.  As strange as it was, the Hound and Lord Beric were friends.  It wasn’t easy for the Hound to make friends.  Not everyone understood him.  And Arya had stolen one of his only friends away.  Her and her damned destiny.

To her shock and dismay, the Hound smiled at her.  “It was him that chose to die for you.  And with good reason.” 

 _No, no.  Don’t absolve me this.  Not you_.  She thought.

“Don’t go getting kind on me again.” The Hound grumbled in a thick voice.

Arya remembered the farmer and his daughter.  She knew what he was telling her.  _Survive_.  Arya nodded at him.  She would do it.  She must.  She couldn’t feel enough to do otherwise anyway.

She took a deep breath and finally turned her eyes to the survivors.  She knew the faces if not their names.  The Dragon Queen and her advisor, Brienne, her squire, and the Kingslayer, the Imp, Jon’s wildling friend, and….  The icy shell of numbness cracked.  Gendry.  Her heart squeezed.

Gendry smiled at her and lifted something in his hand.  It took her a second to register what it was.  Half of her spear.  He’d found it for her.  It wasn’t lost.  He wasn’t lost.  Her relief was incredible.  A wash of some emotion creeping in through the cracks in her empty shell.  She felt her mouth lift into what may have passed for a smile.

“Is that for me?”  Her voice was strange.  She didn’t recognize it.  Had she sounded like that when she spoke to the Hound?  She couldn’t remember.

Gendry shook his head and smiled lazily.  “What do you need a weapon like this for?”

 _You_. She thought.  _I need it because you made it for me_. 

She looked beyond him.  Other survivors were sifting through the piles of corpses.  Looking for loved ones and friends and familiar faces.  She didn’t know when she’d stopped her counting or how high the number had gotten. 

“How many did we lose?” She asked in a voice that sounded much more like her own.  Strong as a bear and calm as still water.

The Dragon Queen shook her head.  She was a mess as well.  “That is tomorrow’s problem.”

Arya looked again at the heaps of corpses.  They outnumbered the living at any rate.  They were talking amongst themselves.  Or maybe they were talking to her.  She couldn’t be bothered to check.  One of the corpses on the pile was a woman no older than herself.  Her eyes were empty, her neck ripped apart savagely.  The cold eyes stared into Arya so deep she could feel the empty numbness rising up to protect her.

She didn’t want to be numb anymore.  It was sapping her away piece by piece.  She knew if she didn’t do something soon there would be nothing of her left.  She needed to do something.  She needed to _feel_ something.  If she didn’t, she knew she would truly become no one.  Nothing.

She took a step.  It wasn’t certain.  A part of herself was afraid to let go of the numbness.  She took another, keeping her eyes on Gendry though he had looked away.  Her confidence built as she moved.  Her determination came back to her.  She slid her hand into Gendry’s and pulled him after her.

He looked surprised, but he didn’t say a word in objection.  He followed her easily.  Seemed like he was through taking the long road.  Where she bid him, he would go.

Arya looked up at the castle as she walked.  Stones were burnt away.  Melted by dragon fire.  Like Harrenhal.  Other towers had been collapsed completely.  The tower that housed her bedroom still stood, but she wouldn’t walk those halls again.  Not yet.  Not until the empty numbness was away from her.

For now, the castle no longer looked or felt like home.  The halls she had once walked through confidently and easily.  She remembered skipping through the castle and racing down the walkways with Bran at her heels.  But those same walkways were painted red with blood now.  The same hallway she once played in was the very same in which she had almost died.

Arya led Gendry down into the bowels of the castle.  Down to the hot springs she had told him about once or twice when he’d expressed concern over the northern chill.  She wondered if he remembered that.  She didn’t say anything to him and he didn’t say anything in return.  She was grateful that.  She didn’t have words just yet.

The hot springs sat relatively untouched.  Too hot for the White Walkers’ taste she supposed.  It was a wonder they hadn’t thought to hide away the noncombatants there.  Although the entrances to the cave were many and hard to defend.  There was only one way in or out of the crypt.  Easily guarded.

Arya set to peeling off her clothes.  In some places they were wet with blood.  In others, mud or ice.  The sole of one of her boots had been torn away from the leather.  Arya stripped it all away until she stood naked.  She was filthy and bloody and likely looked like something from a nightmare.  That must have been the reason Gendry was just staring at her like that.

Arya stepped down into the pool.  The water was warm.  It pulled at her muscles and took away some of the ache she hadn’t been aware of until that moment.  Gendry was still standing fully clothed.  Arya began to doubt herself.  Last night had been different.  She wasn’t stupid.  Maybe the only reason he had agreed to lie with her was because he thought it was his last few hours, too.

She leaned back against the far side of the pool and shut her eyes.  He could leave if he wanted.  She was adaptable.  She would adapt to the empty numbness around her.  Maybe someday she would feel again.

The water rippled as Gendry lowered himself into the pool.  She kept her eyes shut.  She could feel her right eye swelling.  He was moving.  The water lapped against her as he went.  She tried to remember what she was like before.  Before the Night King and his army.  Before The House of Black and White.  Before Braavos and the Hound.  Even before Gendry and King’s Landing.  What had she been like before her father’s head rolled away from his body?  She couldn’t remember.

Gendry’s hand settled on the crook of her neck.  Something touched her face.  She blinked her eyes open.  Gendry was so close to her.  She could see how blue his eyes were in the low glow of the hot springs.  He cleaned her face, apologizing when his rag snagged the cut in her forehead.  He looked serious. 

Arya pulled the rag from his hand and set to wiping the filth from his face in turn.  His eyes flickered shut.  She touched his cheek.  If she wanted rid of this aching numbness she needed to feel good.  She had never felt so good as when she had lain with him.  Kissed him.  Felt his skin bare against hers.  She pressed her lips against his waiting for him to push her away.

Gendry’s arms went around her.  He pulled her flush against him and deepened their kiss.  Arya gasped in relief.  He wanted it.  Wanted _her_.  She held his face to hers, kissing him as she felt the layer of icy numbness crack and fall away from her.  Melting in the heat of the hot springs and their kisses.  Tears came unbidden.  She couldn’t stop them.  She could only keep Gendry kissing her so he wouldn’t see.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, clinging to him in desperation.  She worked herself over him frantically.  Desperate to feel good again.  To stop her seemingly endless tears.  Gendry must have understood.  She didn’t say a word.  She didn’t try to explain any of it to him, he just knew.

She let out a gasp as she came that turned into a horrible sob that ripped through her up from her belly.  A sob that she had buried deep.  So deep she forgot it was there for years.  But now it broke free.  It was a sob that had started at the Sept of Baelor and followed her through every struggle and terror she survived.  It echoed through the cavern and came back to her.

Gendry moved them back so he could lean against the wall of the pool.  She shook as more sobs erupted from her.  Try as she might, she couldn’t settle them back.  Her whole body trembled.  She wrapped her arms around her body to keep herself from physically falling apart.  Gendry’s strong hands ran up and down her back gently.  His voice was in her ear, hushing her and whispering soothing nonsense to her.

“I thought I was going to die.” She gasped out between sobs.  But that didn’t begin to cover all the things she had felt.  All the things she feared.  Melisandre had had more words for her all those years ago.

“ _I see a darkness in you_.”

Darkness.  How dark?  How deep inside her?  She hadn’t lied.  She really had thought she was going to die.  It was a thought she’d had so often that it rarely scared her anymore.  It was _his_ death that petrified her.  His or Sansa’s or Jon’s or Bran’s.  She wasn’t afraid of Death.  Not for herself.  She was afraid that he would take away everyone else she cared for and leave her alive but alone.  Swimming in the darkness alone.

“I know.  I was scared, too.” Gendry murmured back to her.  He kissed the top of her head and she became acutely away of how disgusting her hair must be.

Arya knew that.  She knew the day before when they’d spoken of the Others.  She saw true fear in his eyes when she pressed.  That worried her even more than the impending doom.  The man who fears losing has already lost.

Arya let out a shaky breath, glad when it didn’t turn into another sob.  “I’m so tired, Gendry.” She admitted.  Everything in her deflated.  She couldn’t cry anymore.  Her body was beleaguered.  His, too, she’d imagine. 

“I’m sure there’s a bed somewhere that’s not been destroyed.” He assured her.  “If not, those grain sacks were actually pretty comfortable.”

The levity of his comment startled a laugh out of her.  The laugh startled more and her amazement that she could still laugh brought tears anew.  This time, tears of relief.  She could feel Gendry’s chest rumbled with his own laughter.  His fingers were snared in her hair.  His face pressed against her head.

She suddenly felt disgusting.  Battle soiled.  She pushed away from him and dunked her head under water.  She swam over to the bucket and soap and set to work ridding herself of the blood and filth.  She tried to ignore the twist in her gut at the knowledge that not all the blood was hers.  Some was even Beric’s. 

The blood and muck swirled in the water along with the soap before disappearing altogether.  A part of Arya longed to disappear with it.  A part growing smaller with every minute she spent with Gendry.  She imagined bits of the icy shell vanishing with the blood.

The black stone stood high above her.  She turned onto her back and stared up at it.  _I see a darkness in you_.  Melisandre’s words echoed in her mind again.  She had killed the Freys and felt pride.  She knew that justice had been dealt.  Why did she not feel prideful now?  Why was she filled with so much pain?

Arya turned onto her belly and looked at Gendry.  He was wearing that pained look he got whenever he was thinking too hard.  His eyes were heavy.  Tired.  He’d seen her injuries.  Tended to her hurts.  Did he have any of his own?  She hadn’t been of a mind to check.  Now she moved over to him.

“Are you alright?” She asked, her voice still raw from crying.

His eyes snapped to hers.  He looked almost startled to see her there.  He gave her a worn smile and touched her cheek.  “Me?  You’re the one that single handedly saved the world.  I should be asking you.”  His jape was just as forced as his thick voice.  He very well might have passed out right then and there in the pool.  Arya knew she was nowhere near strong enough to pull him out alone.

“I think the steam is getting to you.”  She told him.  Many people had succumbed over the years to the draw of the hot springs.  They become comfortable and complicit.  They often fell asleep during baths and drowned.  Her and her siblings had never been allowed to bathe in them alone or unsupervised.

All the same, Arya didn’t tug him out of the water or order him about.  She stepped out on her own knowing he would undoubtedly follow her.  She picked up her britches and grimaced.  She wished she’d had the forethought to fetch a fresh change of clothes before they’d come to the springs.  She had been so numb and thoughtless it would have been a miracle if she had.

Seeing no other option, she sighed and began to pull the dirty clothes on over her newly cleaned body.  No sooner had she tucked her undershirt into her pants than she heard Gendry scrambling out of the pool behind her.  She laced up her tunic and watched him dress for a second.  Then, her eyes landed on her partial weapon.  She snatched it up from the ground and twirled it in her hands.  It would be so easy to stay down there with Gendry….

She focused on the spear.  He must have found this one in the yard.  The other half was likely still on the rampart where the Other had knocked it away.  If the rampart still stood.  If the dragon fire hadn’t reached it.  She turned the spear over and over.  First one way then the other.  It felt good to do something familiar.

Her thoughts were coming more easily now.  The weight of the world was melting off her shoulders.  The Night King was dead.  She had seen to that.  Prophecy or no, the deed was done.  The dead were dead.  The deaths of all she had last still stained her skin blood red, but it wasn’t a new feeling.  She had always felt a sense of guilt for them.  The feeling was only stronger now that she knew she had, in fact, been at the core of their untimely demises.  It was a strong feeling, but she was stronger.

Gendry finished dressing and stood watching her.  Arya didn’t look at him.  She continued twirling her spear and started up the tunnel for the yard.  She had to keep walking lest she fall victim to her lusts.  She wondered if Gendry had found any release of his own in the hot spring.  Even if she hadn’t broken down like some simpering child, she wouldn’t have asked.  Though she probably would have been more aware of it to begin with.

“This was really good work.” She said instead of asking.  The silence she had welcomed earlier now threatened to strangle her.  She cleared her throat.  “I wish I’d managed to keep a better handle on it.”

“I’ll try not to hold that over your head.”

There was little that Arya wanted to do more than find a bed or those grain sacks and use Gendry just as she used her bow or her sword.  Use him until her body shook with pleasure and he lay spent beneath her.  Worse.  She wanted to love him.

Gendry didn’t love her.  Or maybe he did.  He wanted her, of course. That much was easy to see.  Arya had seen the lustful gazes of men and women alike a thousand times over.  It was easy to recognize.  Something she could see even without her sight.  Love was different.  Everyone wore it differently.  And she had been mistaken too many times to trust her eyes on that matter.

She felt like she they were back in the cave with the Brotherhood.  Arya had risked her heart with him once before.  The first time she’d ever felt it break.  Was she really going to put it out on the line again?  Had she learned nothing?  She could feel the blood in her ears the same as if she were still fighting the Others.  Fighting for her life.

“Maybe you can make me a new weapon.  I don’t really need dragon glass anymore.”  She tried to make her voice as indifferent as possible.  Her words were the same as they had been before.

_Stay with me.  Stay and smith.  Be my family._

But his words were the same, too.

“What happened to Needle?”

 _Say you love me_ , she begged.

 _I don’t_.  Was his reply.

“Nothing.” She both answered his question and ordered herself.  Show him nothing.  No more tears.  “You don’t need to make me anything else I suppose.”

She would not let him weaken her.  She would not be pulled down by his rejection again.  She knew he did not love her.  She had known before she raised the question.  His words were only a confirmation of that.

Nonetheless, she wanted the numbness back.  She had used him to make her feel again.  To chip away the empty, icy numbness covering her in the aftermath.  The pain to her heart was acute.  Stabbing.  She walked to the hall to escape it.  As she approached, she slipped the spear into her belt.

The chatter inside was loud and cheerful.  Arya did not feel loud or cheerful.  She could hear men pounding the tables.  People were singing songs of ancient victories.  They were so happy.  Had she ever been that happy?  She thought not.

She debated leaving.  Her battle was won.  Her love had gone to sour.  Her sibling needed her no longer.  What’s more, they must have certainly realized by now what her destiny meant.  That their father was dead because of her.  Their mother, Robb, and Rickon had all found early graves because of her destiny.  Her damned destiny.  If not for her, their father would still be seated in his large chair at the center of the head table.  His laughter would still be heard amongst the rest of the men.  She had taken everything from them.  They would hate her now.

Gendry stepped around her and pushed the door open.  Taking away her chance to run.  She steeled herself.  Gendry took her hand and led her inside.  The chatter had died.  Even the barest whisper of celebration died on the lips of the survivors as she continued into the hall.

Gendry pulled her forward to stand before the head table.  Father’s chair sat empty at the middle of the table.  She could almost see his ghost seated there.  Arya had been right.  They had figured it the same as her.  Ned Stark had died because of her and that prophecy.

Jon, Sansa, and Daenerys rose from their seats to look down at her.  They were all grim.  Even the Dragon Queen who had no cause to love Ned Stark, the man who aided in her family’s demise.  Arya pulled her emotions around her like a cloak.  She would be No One.  They couldn’t hurt No One.

“My good people of the North,” Daenerys started grandly.  “May I present the lady, Arya Stark.”

_No One.  I am No One._

“Bringer of the Dawn and savior of mankind.” Sansa rang out.

Arya kept her expression blank.  She didn’t know this game.

“It was she and she alone that slayed the Night King and led us out of the Long Night.” Jon added.

“Azor ahai.” Bran declared in his deadly calm voice.  “The princess that was promised.”

The hall thundered with cheers and applause even louder than before she’d entered.  Fists pounded the tables.  She could hear her name shouted by men and women all around her.

“Princess Arya!” The cried.  “Bringer of the Dawn!”

They didn’t hate her.  They didn’t plan to crucify her.  They were cheering for her.  For _her_.  Like she was a fabled knight from the songs.  Brienne and the Hound were at her sides urging her toward the head table.  Sansa pushed her down into Father’s chair.  The shadow of his ghost fell over her.  A plate of food filled with a lord’s portion of everything was laid before her.  A cup of summerwine shoved into her hand.

She ate and drank until her belly felt it might burst.  She was wholly unaccustomed to the stares.  She’d spent so long training to be invisible.  She’d been good at being invisible.  She had been an ugly youth.  Arya Horseface.  That’s what they’d called her.  Sansa and Jeyne Poole.  It suited her fine.  No one looked twice at a plain woman.  Now they all stared with awe.

“If ever there is a request from Azor Ahai, my people will not hesitate to assist you.” A lord swore to her.  He might have been a Glover or a Manderly.  She couldn’t be sure.  More followed in his wake.  Men, women, great and small.  They all pledged to aide her in anything Azor Ahai might need.

It was hardly more than an hour before Arya could bear the weight of her father’s chair another minute.  She didn’t know how Jon and Sansa managed it.  She excused herself with all her ancient courtesies and stepped over to the Hound’s table.

“Look at this.”  He growled.  “The legendary hero has deigned to bless me with her presence.”  There was no scorn behind his words.  In fact, he seemed genuinely pleased to see her.  “Is it me you’re after?  Or are you looking for you little lover boy?”

Arya eyed him with a practiced glare.  “What lover boy?”

The Hound rolled his eyes in exasperation.  “Your beloved bastard smith.  The whiny one that follows you about like a moon eyed pup.”

“We’re only friends.” _He doesn’t love me_.

The Hound scoffed.  “You bother telling him that?”

“What?” Jon’s wildling friend said.  “The stupid one?  Him and the princess?”

Jaime Lannister snorted into his cup.  Arya glared at the brutish wild man.  He couldn’t be harder to kill than the Night King.

“I wouldn’t call him stupid.” Tyrion piped up.  “Especially not when he’d got a hammer in his hands.”

The wildling cackled harder.  “Even if you did, the boy would spend an hour trying to figure out what you meant!”

Arya slid the spear from where it was looped in her belt.  She twirled it once and picked at the blade.  The edge was jagged, but still sharp.  Blood clung to the black rock.  She twirled it again, this time toward the wildling.  He leaned away, eyeing the weapon warily.

“What’s that?” Brienne asked.

“A spear.”

“Short for a spear.” Jaime Lannister observed.

“There’s another half to it.  I lost it fighting off some of those dead men.  But it works like a dream half or whole.  Gendry’s always had fine work.”  She looked over at the wild man.  She arched a brow at him.  “Did you make your axe yourself?”

The man frowned.  “I can use it just fine all the same.”

Arya smirked at him.  “Well, we all have our talents.  Some of us more than others.”

The wildling turned red, but couldn’t find words to respond.  Arya twirled the spear in her hand once more before slipping it back into her belt and sitting between him and the Hound.  The wild man cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

“I know the lad’s a fighter.  Me and him held the gate together.  We went beyond the Wall together.  I trust the boy in a fight.  That’s not where he’s stupid.”

“What the fool means to say is the boy don’t always catch your meaning beyond your words.” The Hound offered, fixing the red man with a heavy glare.

“He’s smarter than most of the men I know.” Arya said evenly.

“All men are idiots.” Brienne declared dryly.

“I beg your pardon, Ser Brienne, but I happen to have the mind of a scholar.  Anyone would say so.  The queen herself has praised my mind.”  Tyrion argued.

“Certainly, dear brother, but you _are_ only half a man.”  Jaime Lannister japed.

Tyrion scowled as the table erupted in laughter.  Arya could just barely hear him mutter, “Sister fucker” amid the laughter.

Arya waited until Jaime lifted his cup to hips mouth before speaking.  “Why _did_ you fuck your sister?”  She fought a triumphant grin as the Kingslayer choked on his wine.  “I mean, I understand loving your siblings.  I love Jon and Bran fiercely and I would – and have killed any who tried to harm them, but…. I honestly can’t imagine fucking either one of them.”

The table was howling with laughter.  Jaime’s face was a unique shade of red.  Arya felt victorious.  She had long despised the Lannisters.  They had done more to wrong her family than anyone else.  Still, neither of Cersei’s brothers had ever made her list.

“You certainly have a filthy mouth for a lady.” Tyrion mused.  “And for a princess… well….”

“I’m not a princess.” She said though the hall still echoed with cheers for Princess Arya, Bringer of the Dawn.

“You are that.” The Hound growled.  “Just one more reason that stupid bastard smith isn’t worthy of you.”

“You said it best, Clegane,” Tyrion said, “Prince Gendry.”

“Being a king’s bastard don’t make him no prince.” The Hound snapped.

“Gendry makes a better prince than Joffrey.” Arya said sourly.

“The boar that gutted Robert Baratheon made a better prince than Joffrey.”  The Hound reasoned.  “Don’t mean I’d ever bend the knee to a pig.”

Arya slammed her hands down flat on the table.  She stood up with a huff.  Gendry may not love her, but she loved him.  She’d be damned if she let anyone get away with calling him a pig.

“Go fuck yourself.” She spit before storming outside.

It was bright.  Early in the afternoon.  The sun was high overhead.  The clouds were gone from the sky.  It was almost as blue as the sky in the south.  She hadn’t noticed before.  There were too many other things on her mind to notice things like the weather.

People were sorting through the corpses.  When they saw her they bowed their heads in deference.  Arya hated it.  And she loved it.  She didn’t know what to do with herself.  She could try and help sort the corpses.  But it reminded her too much of the House of Black and White.  She wondered if anyone had found Beric’s body yet.  Her skin went cold at the memory.

“Boy’s going to freeze to death.” A woman muttered nearby.

“How’d you know he’s not dead already?” A man challenged.

Arya turned toward them to see what they were talking about.  Her breath caught at the sight of Gendry sleeping slumped against the wall.  He was surrounded by corpses.  The way he looked she had to work to remind herself that he wasn’t dead.

The man and woman shrank away from him as she moved closer.  They bowed and mumbled Azor Ahai before quickly scurrying away.  Arya stared down at Gendry.  It wasn’t until she saw his chest move up and down with a breath that she realized that was what she had been waiting for.  She looked around.  There was no one to help her and she couldn’t carry him on her own.  She didn’t want to wake him.  He deserved sleep after the Long Night.  They all did.

Arya sat down in the mud beside him.  Gendry had always had little trouble falling asleep wherever he was.  Caves, forests, pigsties.  She envied him that.  Arya had trouble sleeping in her featherbed.

A cold breeze snapped through the yard.  She’d wake him before it got dark.  The woman was right.  It was still winter.  Anyone could very well die from sleeping outside.  Northerner or not.

Arya laid her head on Gendry’s shoulder.  She felt him turn his face into her hair.  She watched people flow in and out of the hall and around the yard.  What few horses remained pulled carts laden with the dead piled up like sacks of grain.  A few stonemasons and carpenters had already started to repair parts of the castle.  There was a lot to be done.  Bodies needed burning.  Grain stocks needed to be counted.  The armies needed replenishing.

Arya could have helped.  In theory.  She wasn’t eating or sleeping or too wounded to move.  But her body was worn.  The idea of getting to her feet again felt like the worst kind of punishment.  And it felt so nice to have Gendry beside her.

Some time later, the Hound emerged from the hall.  He squinted against the sunlight and grimaced at the corpses.  Arya watched him quietly.  She kept her head nestled squarely on Gendry’s shoulder.  The Hound turned around and took a step back, then another, squinting up at the broken castle.  He frowned at one of the windows.  He dropped his gaze and found hers.

The Hound took them in with a heavy frown.  Arya hadn’t forgiven him for his pig statement.  Then the Hound gave a rueful smile and took a step closer.  Arya’s eyes followed him.  He nodded at Gendry.

“If he wasn’t asleep, that boy’d probably wet himself with joy the way you’re pressed up against him.”

Arya tilted her left eyebrow at him.  “You might be surprised.”

The Hound scowled down at her.  “Gods, I liked you better when you were trying to kill me.”

Arya gave a small shrug.  The best she could manage under Gendry’s dead weight.  “I’ve never liked you.”

The Hound let out a short laugh.  “You’re feeling better now.  Looked like an Other yourself this morning.”  He squinted down at her.  “You sleep yet?”  Arya shook her head.  “Not planning to sleep there, are you?  Like him?”

“I didn’t want to wake him.”

The Hound scoffed and rolled his eyes.  Arya pressed her shoulder into Gendry’s chest.  He sighed into her hair.  The Hound groaned and waved his hand at her.

“Alright, move.”

Arya frowned at him, but after a second, she complied.  The Hound grabbed Gendry under his arms and slung him over his shoulder.  Arya worried that he had woken him as gruffly as the Hound had handled him, but Gendry was out like a candle.

Arya led the Hound into the castle to her tower.  One of the few that remained intact.  She shut down her emotions as she crossed hallways that she had raced down the night before frantically escaping the army of the dead.  The Hound was watching her.  She could feel his scrutinizing stare.

She brought them to her room and opened the door.  The windows were cracked and rock dust covered everything, but the bed still stood and everything remained untouched.  She pointed the Hound to the bed and he dropped Gendry onto his back unceremoniously.  The Hound stretched his neck.

“Alright,” he said, “you find a bed, too.”

Arya went to her trunk and pulled out Needle.  It was just where she left it.  Arya nodded at the bed.

“I have one.”  She slid her spear from her belt and set it on her dresser before doing the same with Cat’s Paw.

“Oh no, Princess.  I’m not leaving you to bed down with this one.”

Arya arched her eyebrow again.  “Princess.” She scoffed.  “I can kill the Night King, but I can’t have a man in my bed.  Is that it?”  She challenged.

“Yes, that’s it.  You’re –”

“Get out.”

“You listen here, girl –”

“Girl, now?  It was just ‘princess.’”  Arya walked toward him, he stepped back.  “You should go find a bed, too.  You’ve slept about as much as I have.”  Arya nodded toward the door.  “Go.  Sleep.  I’ll do the same.”

The Hound looked like he was going to argue further, but Arya would hear none of it.  She pushed him from the room and shut the door.  The second she was alone.  Or, alone with a sleeping Gendry, she stripped off her ragged clothes and dug out a fresh undershirt to sleep in.

She turned for bed, but saw Gendry still clad in his dirtied clothes.  She frowned.  She had men’s shirts.  One men’s shirt.  The one she had worn when she’d dressed as Walder Frey.  She dug it out of her dresser and looked at it.  It would be a bit short on him, but it was clean.

She set to pulling off his clothes, started with his boots and moving to his shirts.  She did so like his body.  Rippling with all those hard won muscles.  She pulled the clean shirt over his head and tugged his arms through the sleeves.  She was working at the ties on his pants when Gendry let out a hum.

“Arya,” he sighed.

Arya froze.  For a split second she thought he might have woken up.  Her hands stilled in their work.  Her fingers still twisted in the ties.

“Gendry?” She whispered hesitantly.

Gendry smiled at her voice and sighed again.  “Arry.”

Arya finished pulling his pants from him and covered him with the blanket.  She set all of their clothes together in a pile.  There would be a buildup of laundry in the coming weeks that was for certain.  She rounded the bed and crawled under the covers.

She rolled into Gendry’s side and listened to his heart beat.  He was warm.  Safe.  Alive.  For the first time, she felt proud of herself.  She had killed the Night King.  _She_ had saved the world.  Everyone was still alive because of her.

“Love you,” Gendry murmured, rolling toward her.  “Love you, Arya.”

Arya’s heart leapt and squeezed and twisted.  _He really is stupid_ , she thought, nestling herself against him. 

“I love you, too.”  She answered, knowing he wouldn’t remember.


End file.
